Page 55 of Claimed By Rage

A woman wearing the most obnoxiously loud perfume and white platform boots interrupts Celia with a shriek, running from the front end of the cafe to our table in the back. “Oh my stars! Is that really you, darling? It’s been ages! Oh, you look stunning!” She leans over the table and forces Celia into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around Celia’s shoulders and squeezing. “When I heard about the divorce, why, I just knew you’d be a wreck. But look at you now! You’d never know that snake of a man ever bit you.”

I catch Celia’s frozen smile and wide eyes before she corrects herself. “Heather Hanson, you are too much!” Her expression warms as she looks the older woman over. “What are you doing here? I thought you moved east.”

Heather waves her hand. “East side can’t handle me, darling. I was only there for two months before I moved right back. But that’s old news—what’s this I hear about you designing again? Janette Fowler will notstoptalking about these dresses you’re making for the upcoming charity gala. You have to show me the sketches! Janette’s keeping them close to her chest, and you know how much I love to come out on top. I can’t be outstaged, darling.” She laughs, but there’s not a joking bone in this woman’s body. Her gaudy rings catch on Celia’s sweater as she tightens her grip.A threat.Celia better not design somethingtoopretty for this Janette Fowler, or Heather will retaliate.

Blood rushes to my head, pulsing hot in my ears. I glare at Heather’s hand, her skinny little arms, her fake fucking tits.

No one threatensmywoman.

Before I can react, however, Celia has a business card in one hand and a sketchpad in the other. “Tell me what look you’re going for this year, and I’ll draft something up for you.” She slides the business card into Heather’s purse. “At a discount, for a friend.” When she smiles, it draws Heather in, and the older woman suddenly slips into our booth and hurriedly whispers in Celia’s ear. Nodding while she draws a preliminary sketch, Celia must capture the essence of Heather’s vision, because Heather’s already pulling out her checkbook.

I count the zeros in her deposit and can’t keep a smirk off my lips.

This cafe isn’t just a trendy place to show off your haul from the day’s shopping spree. It’s anetworkingopportunity.

“I’ll call you once I have the initial mock-up ready,” Celia promises, tucking the sketch into Heather’s hand and curling her fingers around it. “Expect to hear from me by the end of the week.”

Heather thanks Celia excitedly before strutting across the room to her own table, immediately nodding toward us the moment she sits down with another two ladies. Their eyes ping between me and Celia, curiosity in their gaze.

“You didn’t introduce us.” I rap my knuckles on the table. “Worried she might like me?”

Even my presence can’t pop Celia’s bubble. She wraps up the remnants of her toast in a napkin and shoves it aside. Shaking her head, she exhales, yet even that is brimming with excitement. “Worried you might ruin the sale. I saw that look.” She stares across the table at me, a coy smile on her lips. “You wanted to eat her alive.”

“Never,” I murmur, reaching across the table to take Celia’s hand. There’s only one woman I’d like to devour. I link our fingers together and squeeze. “But dismemberment? That’s still on the table.”

She laughs, the sound rich and full of life. “If she stiffs me, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

I neglect to inform Celia that if either Heather Hanson or Janette Fowler dare insult my woman’s work or skill by shorting her money or praise, they’ll be screaming it from the rooftops while I peel off their eyelids.

Either way, it’s a win.

I get to hold Celia’s hand, and she gets to sit across from me looking just and pretty and perfect andhappyas she deserves.

Once Celia has a to-go latte in hand and we step outside the cafe into the late morning chill, she pulls us to a stop on the sidewalk, clears her throat, and straightens her spine, like all of a sudden, walking down the street by my side is more serious than sitting with me in a cafe. She looks up at me with a tiny divot between her eyebrows.

I don’t care what it is she has to say, as long as she keeps letting me hold her hand. It’s a funny thing. We’re barely touching, yet my entire body’s on fire. My cock could cut glass, and I’m sweating beneath my suit jacket. She fidgets with her purse strap while she stalls for time.

“What is it?” I ask, trying not to laugh. She was perfectly in control of herself inside the cafe, but now that we’re out of familiar bounds, she’s twitchy again.

I long to kiss the nerves right out of her system.

So that’s exactly what I do.

Pulling her into my chest, I cradle the back of her head and cover her mouth with mine, humming at how sweet she tastes, like cinnamon. The tension in her shoulders eases, and she leans into the kiss.

My heart damn near beats out of my chest. This is different from all of our other kisses—I’m not forcing it on her because I can’t stand the distance between us, I’m doing this as much for her as for me.

Shemelts.

It’s satisfying asfuck.

When she looks up into my eyes, I can finally see it—gratitude.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her cheeks turning pink. “That was, um, okay. The breakfast. Not the kiss. That was—” her breath hitches—“fine.”

“We can do better thanfine,” I promise, slanting my lips over hers. She lets me in for the briefest moment, her dainty hands clutching my shirt as she just…lets me. Taste her. Hold her.Fuck.It’s everything I’ve wanted, yet nowhere close to complete. It’s a glimpse of what our future could be like—these small, soft moments. Then it’s over too soon, somehow turning my body into fucking lava despite how brief it was—but alsosofucking worth it. There’s this dazed look in her eyes, and the little dimple on her forehead is erased.

Shelikesgentle kisses.

---